


this love has no ceiling

by soldierwitch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierwitch/pseuds/soldierwitch
Summary: It's been six months since they touched down on the new planet, and if they're really going to live up to Monty's wish that they do better then they have to do more than survive. Cue Raven's insistence on a party. With the music pumping, their people dancing, and a little help from Murphy, Clarke might just find herself letting go enough to do something she's been waiting to do for over a century.





	this love has no ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with [Electricity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_rUtj0Ifos) by Silk City (Diplo&Mark Ronson) and Dua Lipa a few weeks ago and this fic came from it. It was fun writing this. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Six months on the new planet, and they’ve faced no shortage of harrowing experiences. And yet tonight their people are dancing beneath the stars lit only by bonfires. They look carefree as they smile and move their bodies to the rhythm coming from the machine Raven had rigged to play Jasper’s old iPod. It’s been over a century since the boy passed but still it’s his memory that inspired Raven. 

“We have to learn how to do more than survive,” she’d argued. “That’s what Jasper would have wanted, and it’s what Monty and Harper died to give us. How many chances do we need to be given before we get that through our thick heads? How many more do you think we have left? Because I have to tell you, I’m getting real sick of this shit.”

Bellamy had asked her what she proposed they’d do then. 

Raven had smirked and held the iPod she’d swiped from Clarke’s room. “Dance, Blake. I propose we dance.”

That’s how Clarke found herself holding up a tree with a mug of Jordan’s moonshine. It tasted better than his father’s, she’d give him that and it got the job done. At least half of the people that had partaken in the drink were gone and the other half were well on their way to joining them. It made her smile to see them letting loose and laughing.

Madi was leading the kids her age in a choreographed dance she’d learned as a child for the festivals in her village. Most of them had it while the rest did whatever approximated for the move they were attempting. 

At first Madi had stood apart from the group, choosing to be a spectator rather than a participant. Clarke had stepped toward her with the intent of encouraging her to join in the festivities. She’d remembered when she needed a push to let the weight drop from her shoulders and act her age. Bellamy had been there for her in that moment, and she’d wanted to give her daughter the same gift, but Gaia had beaten her to the opportunity.

Clarke had overheard the kind words the Flamekeeper had for her child. Reminding her that Commanders had a duty to protect their people, yes, but they also needed to show them that they were understood.

“They may never relate to you,” Gaia had said. “You may never relate to them, but they must always feel your love for them and you must always be ready to receive their love for you.”

“You said love was a weakness.”

“I was wrong,” Gaia admitted. “It was love that kept you alive and sustained you. It was love that led you to ascend. And it is love that will help heal our wounds and stay united as a people. I have faith, Heda. Faith in you and faith in the strength of your heart. Do not hide it away.”

Madi had nodded her head and made her way into the throng of people. She stopped before Anesa, a former novitiate of Blodreina’s, and asked her to dance. The girl had been the daughter of a Shallow Valley mystic and a warrior from a neighboring clan. They did not share history, but they shared culture and that had made all the difference to Madi.

Clarke doubted Madi recognized why she chose Anesa out of everyone else to help her usher in a new age, but she suspects one day she will. Possibly one day soon if the light in her daughter’s eyes is anything to go by. The girls move in sync, their hands sweeping to the side and upward in unison as their hips groove to the beat. When Anesa turns to help a young boy struggling with his foot placement, Clarke notices the way Madi’s eyes follow her even as she continues moving to give the others an example of their next steps.

“How cute,” Murphy says, coming to lean against Clarke’s tree.

“What do you want, Murphy?”

He moves to stand in front of her and places his hand over his heart like her words stabbed him. “Can’t one friend come speak to the other?”

“They can,” Clarke acknowledges. “But you usually come when you want something.”

He laughs. “Not a lie, princess, but this time I come with a simple request.”

Clarke blinks, looking up at him. It’s been so long since she was called by that name. She’s not usually one for nostalgia, but her heart warms at the endearment. It reminds her of a time when she was softer, more hopeful. Fitting for this night where they’ve given up the ghosts of their past to step forward into a new future.

“What is it,” she asks.

Murphy holds out his hand. “A dance.”

She laughs, the reaction springing from her in surprise. But Murphy doesn’t laugh along, only smiles and keeps his hand held out to her to show he’s serious.

“I didn’t know you dance,” Clarke says after her laughter settles.

“You didn’t know I cook either,” he says. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“I see.”

“You don’t,” Murphy says. “But you will. Now are you going to quit leaving me hanging or do I need to go off and lick my wounds somewhere else.”

Clarke takes his hand.

They walk through crowd, stopping near the area Raven had set up for herself when she’d declared that she was in charge of the music. Colors swirl around her thanks to the machines she’d scrapped together to add “atmosphere” as she had called it. 

Raven waves when she sees them and elbows Shaw to get his attention. 

Clarke can just make out her saying, “Watch this,” to him before Murphy spins her around just as the music shifts into something that bounces and pops.

“Ready to give them a show,” Murphy asks with a smirk as he looks down at her.

“Sure,” Clarke says like a question. 

“Good.”

Murphy starts by moving his shoulders, his hips following suit as his hands move in front of him.

Clarke follows his lead. Her head bops and before she knows it she’s copying Murphy’s moves. Her hips sway and her hands move above her head as a smile slowly starts to light up her face. She grabs Murphy’s hand and spins him like he’d spun her until his back is pressed to her front making him laugh.

“There you go, Griffin,” gets lost in the motion of her spinning him away from her but the feeling of the words settle into her spirit as they continue to dance.

When Murphy grabs her other hand, he moves their joined palms back and forth like the waves of an electric current. It’s silly and him and Clarke finds that this was what she’d missed most about him over six years. His ability to make her laugh. He neither wanted nor expected anything because he trusted no one and in being that way he felt utter freedom and abandon in being himself. Murphy gives more of a fuck now, but at his core he still doesn’t give a shit, and that’s what Clarke channels as her eyes slip close. Her hair whips around as she dances, letting go of Murphy’s hands so she can do her own thing. 

_Let go_ , her head says. _You are safe. Your daughter is happy. Your friends are alive. Monty said do better. This is better. Live. You’re allowed to now. Live._

Clarke opens her eyes just as Emori walks up behind Murphy.

Emori puts a finger to her lips and then proceeds to tickle her boyfriend causing him to squawk and jump in the air before falling back into her arms.

With a hand to her mouth, Clarke attempts to smother her laugh but she barely succeeds. 

Murphy glares at her while Emori winks and motions for Clarke to turn around.

Clarke’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but she does as Emori requests. And there walking toward her is Bellamy, sidestepping other dancers as he makes his way.

Bellamy stuffs his hands in his pockets as he stands before her. “Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” Clarke returns.

“Uh...can I have this dance?”

She raises an eyebrow. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never voluntarily danced...ever.”

“So, is that a no?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what--”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, stepping closer to her, his voice low and husky. “Dance with me.”

“Okay,” she says, breathless as he links his fingers with hers and brings her arms up so they rest on his shoulders.  
Bellamy shuffles his feet, a bit off rhythm. In all honestly, Clarke feels like she’s back in the Ark’s recreation hall on a Wednesday night, suffering through dance lessons because her mother had wanted her to be around more people her age outside of school. But this time her heart is aflutter over a man and it’s her hands that are sweating not a boy’s with two left feet. 

When Bellamy starts to sing the song playing under his breath Clarke begins to relax. She’d forgotten that he used to do that whenever a song he recognized was playing. He would never do so around anyone but her and Octavia. Having that piece of him had made her feel special like he held her closer than most.

“...I’ll never let this feeling go…”

 _Let go_ , her heart says. _You trust him in all things; trust him in this. Love. Love. Love._

In a breath, Clarke stands on tip toe and kisses Bellamy. It’s a child’s kiss. A simple pressing of lips before her heels return to the ground. 

Innocent is not a word Clarke would ever use to describe her and Bellamy. Too much has happened. Blood stains both of their hands. They’ve had their hearts broken by war and tragedy far too many times to be starry-eyed and boundlessly optimistic. But Bellamy blushes like he’s young and when he exhales a shaky breath he presses his forehead to hers. 

They’re an island of stillness in a bouncing wave of bodies, and Clarke feels like she could burst. She has kissed and been kissed. Loved and lost. But this moment with Bellamy feels different. She’s not holding onto something as it’s steadily being pulled from her grasp by circumstance. Nothing is unraveling. Their feet are firmly planted on the ground, his hands are anchored on her waist, they’re sharing air, and he is here with her.

Clarke has waited for Bellamy for over a century. Through two apocalypses and a near eternal sleep. Through a new planet and the possible threat of its inhabitants. She’d waited even when she thought she’d given up hope for them, watching as he held Echo in his arms as they embraced another chance at survival. She’d waited. And even when that relationship ended, Clarke had continued to wait because her whole life since her father’s death has been a waiting game. For the inevitable fall. For the destruction of a world she thought she could have before something or someone upended it all and forced her to start again. 

Things die in her hands. It’s why she’s called Wanheda. She knows this and yet when Bellamy spins her so that she’s pressed to his front, no space between them as he presses his face to her neck and breathes in, she lets go. She lets her heart sing for him, breaking from his hold so she can face him as she says, “I love you,” for the first time without it being a goodbye. And it’s worth the widening of his eyes and the smile that slowly lights his face before he pulls her back into him and kisses her.

Clarke may never tell Bellamy this but he tastes like hope. He tastes like every dream she’s ever had about life and family and love. And he tastes like hers, so she hopes with everything in her that she tastes the same to him. That this new dream blooming in her heart, this dream full of his laughter and his hands as they guide their people into a brighter future is one they share.

Bellamy laughs, breaking their kiss after Raven’s loud whoop. His eyes are sparkling even as Madi busts between them with Anesa not far behind. Even as Madi grabs his hand swirling beneath his arm and he watches Anesa do the same with Clarke’s. He is laughing and smiling, and Clarke lets that be her answer, hoping and loving, as she dances beneath the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated. If you'd like to drop me a line, you can reach me [@asoldierwitch](https://asoldierwitch.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
